


In Good Hands

by Lord Nyoka (SilverofSouls)



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverofSouls/pseuds/Lord%20Nyoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weiss isn't one to let others see her vulnerable moments, but today, she’s disinclined to refuse comfort when it’s offered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Good Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Thankfully, fanfiction is cheaper than therapy. Also, my appreciation for Freezerburn doubled while writing this.

When Weiss looked up, the room was empty.

How rare it was to find herself alone in the room shared by three others, who came and went with such frequency that it hardly seemed appropriate to keep the door shut during midday. Yet when she searched her brain for any recent memory of one of her teammates carrying books in from the library or searching for food, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the silence.

 _How long have I been sitting here?_  She almost posed the question to the air, but opted instead to let the book in her hands -  _Practical Dust Applications -_ fall onto the covers of her bed. Her legs screamed in protest when she moved them for the first time in hours, pulling herself up to a sitting position. Twisting limbs relieved some of the tension, unleashing a series of  _pops_ that were quite impressive to hear from a girl of her stature.

The lamp at her nightstand was the only source of light in the room, save for the white rays of light peeking in from behind the curtain. She stood up, reaching out a hand to brush the fabric aside, a small gasp falling from her lips at the sight outside.

Huge flakes fell from the sky, adding to the impressive blanket of white that was enshrouding the campus with stillness. The grass was completely gone, hidden from view beneath snow too new to have been disturbed. The academic buildings looked as if they had been coated with a fine layer of frosting, nestled among lifeless trees that bent and twisted under the weight of their new burdens, white fingers grasping towards a sky that was filled with haze.

This wasn’t forecasted. Weiss had checked. Three times, thanks to Ruby’s stubbornness. Her leader’s faith in winter storms knew no bounds. Her insistence had been peppered with pleas and puppy-eyes in Weiss’s direction. “Pleeeease make it snow? Pretty please?” The questions always earned an eyeroll, accompanied by the assurance that, could Weiss actually control the weather, she would not be sitting in a classroom at Beacon.

A frown found its way onto her face, not solely for the fact that she had been wrong about the weather. From her position, she couldn’t see a single soul in the expansive courtyard below, nor even a sign that anyone had passed through recently. Though beautiful, Beacon looked almost like a child’s play cityscape, spread out across a white carpet and free from the presence of little plastic man who would otherwise be bustling between the buildings or hiding behind the wooden half-walls.

Slowly, Weiss turned away from the window. A sudden buzz from her scroll served as the day’s first reminder that she wasn’t alone.

 _Return my calls,_ read the message on her screen, deepening her frown as she set the scroll aside and allowed herself to sink back onto the bed. There were few tasks that she procrastinated, but allocating her father’s calls to some vague future was almost second nature by now.

The underside of Ruby’s bed stared at her as she cast her eyes up and traced the grain in the wood that hung over head. Where was her team? It wasn’t too unusual for the four of them to separate during the weekends, but spending hours alone without so much as a sign of any of them was unheard of. Weiss glanced at her book again, presented with the prospect of being three weeks ahead of the rest of her class instead of merely two, but the thought of moving her hands and lifting the heavy volume again kept her still.

She looked to the rest of the room, a study in organized chaos, Yang’s action figures filling every space of the nearby bookshelf that wasn’t occupied by Blake’s books. They were frozen in time, weapons raised at each other or at unseen enemies, faces twisted into permanent war cries. On the floor next to them, an impressive tower of video games served as a makeshift table for several of Crescent Rose’s clips. The desk beside them was immaculately clean, rows of colored dust vials so orderly against the wooden back that they almost looked decorative. The desk  _next_  to it, however, was filled with stacks of papers, cracked textbooks, and candy bar wrappers.

Being alone in her bedroom was no new experience for Weiss. She recalled with sharp clarity the sensation of shrinking into her canopy bed, the glassy stares of dolls and stuffed animals following every minuscule movement she made from their neat rows on shelves just too high up for her to reach without dragging one of the many chairs over to climb on. Why she had so many chairs gathered around her table was a mystery – they were never filled, and father had yelled at her the few times he had caught her standing on one while reaching for a toy. She had often resigned herself to simply looking at her possessions from the safety of her bed, taking inventory, fervently wishing they would come to life and speak to her.

This room was different. It was almost exactly the size of her old one, but held four times as many people, and their belongings mingled freely. More than once she had held an article of clothing or a book and had to ask herself if it was hers or one of her teammates. This room was loved, lived in.

But, right now, this room was also empty.

Weiss pulled her knees to her chest, lowering her chin until it rested on the tops. Any moment now, Ruby would walk in with snowflakes in her hair, beaming brighter than the sun and bragging about she had correctly predicted the weather. Yang would follow her, throwing some teasing aside about how the ice queen was losing her touch. If she was lucky, Blake would be with them, and she would detach herself from Yang’s side long enough to notice the distance in Weiss’s stare. She would come over to her bed and begin playing with the long white tresses that hadn’t been brushed that morning. She’d ease out the tangles with dexterous fingers and sit close enough for her breath to mingle against Weiss’s cheek. She’d tease her for studying too hard on a snowy Saturday and pull her in for a hug, burying her face in the heiress’s hair and breathing in deeply, the same way she did with Yang.

Weiss’s fingers tightened, digging into her own flesh. The last thing she needed right now was the resurgence of dangerous thoughts. There was a small mountain of reasons why she couldn’t allow herself to entertain them, but it was too easy to lose herself in the sense memory of Blake’s gentle touches. Each one was a victory hard won from months of unspoken opposition, a promise they made to each other – one that left no room for blind hatred born of their pasts. When had not-hatred given way to tolerance? Friendship?…Something else?

She couldn’t name their relationship. Partly because it was so new to her, and partly because she had the sinking sense that naming something like this would make it real, unable to be ignored.

Lifting her chin from her knees, she looked out the window again, watching the empty world fill up with snow at a pace that was almost alarming. She let go of the thoughts of Blake, drawing in a single, resigned breath. From the back of her mind, she became aware of a distant sensation not unlike the static of a broken television channel.

_How long have I been sitting here?_

She pulled herself up carefully, hardly aware of the cool hardwood beneath her bare feet. They seemed to move almost of their own accord, bringing her to the door. Her hand entered her field of vision, twisting the doorknob carefully before pushing it open just wide enough to allow her to peek out into the hallway.

Empty. Here, again, there was a sign of the living; four pairs of wet boots were piled haphazardly outside of team JNPR’s door. But there were no bodies, no movements, no sound save for the soft  _click_ of her closing the door again.

_Where is everyone?_

The question was almost drowned out by the static, and now there was a sharp ringing in her left ear that wasn’t at all affected by the tight press of her palm. She wasn’t aware she had moved until her free hand came in contact with the smooth wood of her desk, and she eased herself slowly into the chair. It was mid afternoon. They’d have to be back soon. 

Wouldn’t they?

Her eyes found the small mirror that she kept on her desk. She brought it forward with lightly trembling fingers and studied the mess of her hair, the heavy exhaustion in her eyes. How did she look so tired if she’d spent the entire day studying in bed?

Studying. There was something concrete to focus on, something to distract herself with. Setting the mirror aside, she reached for  _A Brief History of Remnant_ , reminding herself that she was only a week ahead of the readings for Oobleck’s class. She found the appropriate chapter on the collapse of the post-War economy.

When she looked up at the clock above her desk, she saw that twenty minutes had passed. She had yet to make it to the bottom of the first page. The words were beginning to quiver under some unknown force. The ringing in her ears had faded but the static had gotten louder, filling her head with noise that left no room for reading comprehension.

 _Am I so worthless that I can’t even read a book?_ The thought cut through the noise, but it offered no relief. Hot tears sprang to her eyes, only serving to make her angrier at herself. The senselessness of it infuriated her, that she would cry over something as ridiculous as this book that for some absurd reason wasn’t making any  _sense._

She wrapped her fingers into a fist and brought it down on the desk top. Hard. The sound elicited a rough  _thump_ and the shattering of glass as the mirror she had set aside fractured into a dozen pieces. The jagged edges dug into the meat of her hand, forming a small puddle of crimson in seconds as she curled in on herself again, dragging the broken pieces across the top in a bloody mess that began trickling onto the carpet. Through her blurring vision, she could make out the wound, and the fractured image of her face staring up at her from the glass. Though she was vaguely aware of throbbing in her hand, the sharp touch of pain she might have expected was completely absent.

She stood up. Rather, the room adjusted itself until she was upright in it. Either was possible; she hadn’t made the conscious decision to move, but she was stumbling back to her bed now, cursing every single tear that fell, cursing her scroll as it lit up with a familiar image of her father’s scowl, cursing every single member of her team for going and leaving her here all day without so much as a word, cursing Ruby for being right about the snow, cursing Blake for loving Yang and it was hardly fair to curse Yang for reciprocating but she did that, too, her mouth falling open in an incoherent cry that had no structure or meaning save to fill the room with some sort of sound because the silence was beginning to crush her now, amplified by the snow that was still piling up on the windowsill and the memories of dozens of glassy-eyed stares watching her from shelves above her head.

Weiss fell onto her bed and let the sobs overtake her just as the door opened.

She didn’t hear the soft footsteps or the  _thud_  of a duffle bag being lowered onto the floor, but the sound of a crinkling wrapper brought her frantic gasps to a halt.

Her eyes opened, and through the haze of her tears, she could just make out the mass of blonde hair in front of her. Yang was kneeling on the floor, rifling through the bag at her feet. She was angled away from Weiss, who quickly turned to face the wall in a poor attempt to conceal her face. She bit down into the skin of her forearm to stop the sobs, squeezing her eyes shut tightly to try and contain the powerful urge to cry.

The hands that found her were hesitant, but firm. One closed around her slender wrist with a care that hardly seemed to befit its size, fingers moving to uncurl the fist that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The appendage had gone numb, but the movement created a rush of sensation – sharp pain mingled with pins and needles, which joined the static in her head.

“Can I patch this up?”

Weiss nodded slowly, still looking away from her teammate, not trusting herself with words but suddenly desperate for more of the gentle contact. It always surprised her how warm Yang’s skin was. The same hands that had been used to strangle an Ursa just a week before were now guiding her bleeding hand into the fold of a towel, ghosting over her skin with a cloth, banishing the lingering numbness before plucking each individual shard of glass from her skin.

It took a long time for Weiss’s eyes to make the journey to Yang’s, which were narrowed in concentration as she knelt on the floor in front of her bed and worked with a patience Weiss was unaccustomed to seeing, each movement calculated to minimize her discomfort as much as possible.

“Might take me a bit, I want to make sure I get them all,” she remarked as she eased a particularly slim shard from Weiss’s palm, eyes softening in apology when the heiress flinched. Her fingers were stained with red, but she didn’t seem to pay the mess any mind until all that was left were pieces too small to grasp. She pulled away then and stood up, disappearing into the bathroom for just a moment before reemerging with clean hands clutching a pair of tweezers.

Though the sobs had stopped, the tears still flowed freely down Weiss’s cheeks as Yang removed the rest of the glass, setting each piece into a small bowl on the nightstand. When she was satisfied that she’d gotten each one, she ran another cloth over the gashes.

Finally, Weiss found her voice. “You’re not going to make some dumb joke?”

Yang finished cleaning the blood and added the cloth to the bowl before reaching for a roll of bandages she’d set down on the bed. Lilac eyes met wet cerulean. The huge hand was back, thumb carefully sweeping away the rivers carved into her cheek. “Would it help?”

The touch was startling, but not unwelcome. The static was beginning to recede, fading into the background. Each stroke of Yang’s thumb felt more real than the last, warm even against her flushed face. She stiffened just slightly, but her good hand found Yang’s, curling around the fingers that clutched the roll of bandages. Her eyelids fluttered shut. “I literally punched a mirror, Yang.”

“I think you’ll have time to  _reflect_ on that later.”

The corners of Weiss’s lips twitched.

“Here, eat this.” The crinkling wrapper was back, and her eyes opened to find a granola bar pressed into her free hand. “There’s a bottle of water on the nightstand if you’re thirsty.”

“Thank you,” Weiss breathed, taking a small bite of the granola bar and realizing with a start that it was the first thing she’d eaten all day. Yang pressed a square of gauze over the worst of the damage, holding it and the end of the roll in one place before she began steadily wrapping her teammate’s injured hand.

“Good as new,” she declared when she was done, taking the wrapper from Weiss and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket before grabbing the bowl from the nightstand and disappearing into the bathroom once again.                

When she reemerged, Weiss noticed that she had changed out of her work out clothes and donned a clean t shirt that bore the words  _Hotter than the Sun_ across her chest. She seemed to debate with herself for a moment before moving to sit on Weiss’s bed. “I’m not used to watching you suffer in silence. You don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But you’ve been stuck in study overdrive for weeks now. It’s too much, even for you,” she said gently, resting a hand on Weiss’s shoulder.

Weiss sagged under the touch, dropping the arms that were clutching her knees and leaning into the warm contact. She took a single deep breath before uncurling herself and turning fully to the blonde, falling into the arms that opened in a wordless invitation. The big hands lifted her carefully, setting her on Yang’s lap with an effortlessness that might have annoyed her had she not immediately been wrapped in arms that could probably crush her. They locked around her, providing a security she hadn’t anticipated as Yang’s body heat enveloped her completely. Weiss’s face found the curtain of slightly damp hair just below the crook of her neck – the spot she’d seen Blake nuzzle into countless times before – and she took a deep breath. The scent of a roaring campfire dominated everything else, but it mingled with the lilac shampoo Yang had likely used after finishing her workout routine.

“I don’t know if I can explain what happened,” Weiss whispered into her chest. “I was studying, and then…” she trailed off, took another deep breath, and tried again. “Sometimes, when I’m by myself for so long, I get this…strange feeling.” One of Yang’s hands began to move, rubbing circular motions into the small of her back. “I don’t know how to describe it other than emptiness. It wasn’t much of a problem when I was younger, but…well, I’m not used to being alone at Beacon. I can’t let this feeling dominate me. I have things to do now, people who are depending me, but when everything fades I just…can’t focus or…do anything – ”

She was cut off by a deep, soothing hum that reminded her immediately of Blake’s purring – though the latter was softer and held a more reserved quality from the girl who didn’t want to be defined by her feline traits. The noise that sounded from Yang’s chest was larger, uncontained. It was like comparing the roll of distant thunder to the tremor of an earthquake she was standing at the epicenter of. Unconsciously, Weiss’s hold tightened, fingers digging into the fabric that clung to Yang’s muscles like a second skin.

Yang didn’t seem to mind. “You’re not alone now,” she whispered, hand traveling north to wipe a tear Weiss hadn’t realized was there. “And if this happens again, you can message me. Honestly, you can message any of us,” she amended. “We care about you, Weiss.”

The tone of her voice sent another pang of guilt loose in Weiss’s stomach, and she pulled her head from Yang’s chest, suddenly very aware of their proximity. It had seemed natural to gravitate towards the blonde’s embrace, to allow herself a rock to cling to in a current that threatened to pull her under, but she was coming to her senses now and beginning to remember why that might not be the best idea. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“For what?” Yang asked, though the question was devoid of real curiosity.

“I shouldn’t…” she struggled with the words.  _I shouldn’t be sitting on your lap. I shouldn’t be burying myself in your warmth. I shouldn’t be so grateful that I’m small enough to fit in your arms._

_I shouldn’t be taking this from you when I’m so caught up on your girlfriend._

Maybe this would all be easier if she hated Yang. She could be guiltless then, or she could stand up and compete with her for Blake’s affection. It would be a losing battle – what chance does a snowflake have against the sun? – but at least she could live with the knowledge that she had tried. But it was impossible to feel any animosity for her teammate, who was kind enough to pick her off the floor and help her put the pieces of herself back together. It wasn’t helping that she felt the intense urge to burrow back into the brawler’s embrace and drink in the heat that almost seemed to pulse with every heartbeat.

Lilac eyes watched patiently as she struggled with the internal turmoil. “I shouldn’t make Blake jealous.”

Yang’s answering snort of amusement was certainly unexpected. “Trust me, you won’t be. I’ve been trying to get closer to you, and she knows that.”

The admission sent a bolt of electricity to the base of Weiss’s spine. Something in her face must have betrayed her shock, because Yang immediately started backpedaling. “Uh, wow, I just said out loud. I don’t mean it in the weird way,” she said quickly, face quickly turning red as Weiss looked on, stunned. “Just, uh…I’m close to Ruby and Blake, obviously, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to be friends with you, even though I really wanted to, and, uh…” her body temperature was increasing noticeably as she spoke, “sorry. I don’t…I won’t bug you with this.”

“Say what you mean,” Weiss said quickly, swallowing to try and contain the heart that felt like it was about to hammer out of her throat. Yang took a deep breath and paused for a long moment to collect herself.

“Sometimes, when you’re fighting, I can’t look away. Any idiot can run at a Beowolf and punch it in the face, but you…Weiss, you make fighting Grimm look like ballet. Which I never understood how people could sit and watch, but I swear, I get it now.”

Sometimes, when Yang’s eyes were flaring crimson while her fists were flying, Weiss would think to herself  _this must be what a firestorm looks like._

“I was sure I was going to fail Port’s last exam, but you were up with me until two in the morning going over your notes, since mine were complete garbage.”

A notebook completely filled with comics detailing the four of them coming up with clever ways to defeat supervillian extraordinaire “Pontificating Port” wasn’t _complete_ garbage…not that Weiss had read the entire thing. (Twice.)

“Half the time I crack jokes, it’s to try and get you to laugh.”

How many times had she rolled her eyes and hid her smiles?

“I guess…what I’m trying to say is that I really like you.”

The words didn’t need to be spoken, but they still filled Weiss with a flood of warmth. Her hold tightened again, and when she pulled herself closer, she could hear Yang’s jackhammering heart beating almost in time with hers.

No, hating Yang clearly wouldn’t be the solution, nor was it in any way possible. There was too much care in her embrace, too much fire in her eyes, too much life coursing through her. Hating Yang would be like hating the sun for shining too brightly. She wished she had never even had the thought.

Weiss brought her face to the crook of Yang’s neck again. She allowed herself three full, deep breaths of smoke and lilacs. “I’m sorry. For being so…irrationally mad at you.”

“I certainly can’t blame you for pining after Blake.”

Her stomach lurched. “You knew?”

“It’s obvious,” Yang replied, her tone light and gently mocking.

“Oh,  _dust,_ ” Weiss groaned, letting golden tresses fall onto her face to hide it from the world.

“If it’s any consolation, I had to point it out to her, too,” she added. “But even JNPR was taking bets on how this would all play out.”

Weiss was fairly certain she’d go into cardiac arrest before this conversation was over. “What…did she say?”

Yang broke out into a knowing grin, glancing up at the door as it slowly began to open. “I’ll let her speak for herself.”

Another pair of hands were on her after a moment – smaller, more familiar, one sliding in between her shoulders blades, seeking points of tension. The other found its way to her hair, brushing aside blonde and white alike until a tear-stained blue eye became visible.

“Bad day?” Blake asked, feline ears lowering in sympathy as she sat down on the bed beside Yang, who opened her arms just enough to allow the faunus easier access to the girl wrapped up in her.

Weiss nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out, a request that Blake was all too happy to indulge as she carefully lowered herself into the space they had created for her. She settled in between Weiss’s arms, nuzzling the spot underneath her chin, earning a smile when her ears tickled Weiss’s pale skin. “Yang’s been helping me.”

“Has she now?” Blake asked, moving back to Weiss’s hair, which she began carefully finger-combing. “She’s very good at that. I heard she once hugged a puppy and brought it back to life.”

The answering laugh was powerful enough to shake both of them. “Is that more, or less impressive than thawing the ice queen?”

“Hey!”

“Less,” Blake decided after a moment, lessening the sting of the jab by pressing warm lips to Weiss’s cheek, causing her to flush a deeper shade of red. She pulled away slowly, drinking in the heiress’s flustered expression. Her eyes looked like liquid gold, radiating with a joy that was all too infectious. “Did she tell you?” she asked softly, and Weiss could only manage a small nod as her eyes followed the movement of lips that were now dangerously close to her own.

“I didn’t think it was appropriate to speak for you, so you’ll have to do that part on your own,” clarified Yang.

It was Blake’s turn to blush. “I hardly think it’s necessary, but, in the interest of avoiding confusion…” there was a brief glance upwards, a wordless request for permission that was granted right before she leaned forward and brought her lips to Weiss’s trembling ones in a soft, sweet kiss that felt like the answer to a silent prayer she’d been holding onto. Relief flooded her limbs like the breaking of a dam, and she leaned forward, returning the kiss with strength borrowed from Yang’s embrace.

When they parted, Blake’s smile threatened to split her face in two, but another upward glance diverted Weiss’s attention, and she turned herself around to face Yang.

The brawler’s face was notably more nervous, but she held Weiss’s gaze while searching for signs of discomfort. Finding none, she let out a shaky breath as Weiss’s hands moved up her arms, returning the favor she’d been granted earlier. She didn’t like the tension that she found, the stiffness with which Yang now held her. It was almost dizzying, to be looking at the blonde the way she was now, free from the weight of the jealousy that had been lifted from her shoulders at the touch of Blake’s lips. It was as if a screen had been raised, allowing her to appreciate the sun’s rays fully for the first time.

She allowed herself more time and care, touching the thick muscles as if they were made of glass, watching the nervousness slowly slide from Yang’s expression as she paid her more attention. She was dimly aware of Blake’s warmth pressed against her back, of the golden eyes that were watching her exploration with great interest. When her fingers found Yang’s face, lilac eyes widened in surprise, but she relaxed immediately, eyelids slipping shut as she allowed Weiss to brush several stray locks away from her face.

“May I kiss you?” asking seemed appropriate, given the distance they had to cover. She wasn’t sure of the question herself until she heard the words out loud.

The nervousness was back in a sudden blink. “Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Yang quickly offered, “it’s ok if you - mmmmfff…”

She was cut off by a feather-light press of cold lips to her own.

Weiss moved slowly, allowing herself to feel the four hands that were pressed against her back – two at her shoulders, gently working out the knots there, and two resting neatly on her lower back, pressed closer by Blake’s weight as the kiss deepened. The temperature around them increased noticeably as Yang’s Semblance flared for just a moment. The rumble sounded from within her chest again, louder than before, and when Blake added to the sound by purring in Weiss’s ear, the heiress nearly lost the ability to hold herself upright against Yang’s lips. She might well have collapsed, had she not been in good hands.

She pulled away and angled herself so that she could look at them both, now a tangle of limbs on the bed. They looked at her with identical expressions of joy that almost brought another round of tears to her eyes before glancing back each other, another brief, wordless exchange passing between them.

“Weiss Schnee, will you be my girlfriend?” Blake asked.

She hadn’t even allowed herself to dream of hearing those words, but here they were, and it was all she could do to nod in her direction.

“And will you be mine?” echoed Yang.

Here too was a question she could have hardly imagined, presenting her with a solution so wonderfully simple she could scarcely believe it – that she would be so lucky as to have not one, but both of them. There was no sign of the emptiness that had claimed her earlier, no room in her brain for the static noises that had been replaced with two distinct heartbeats sounding alongside her own.

“Yes. Of course.”


End file.
